First Meetings
by Dailenna
Summary: [Royai] Everyone's first meetings are different, but those initial meetings aren't what creates a friendship.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA

**Notes:** Sorry about the confusion the fourth section might cause. I couldn't think of a way to separate both females distinctly, so I italicised the "she" being spoken about, and the one speaking/thinking is left normal.

"**First Meetings**" by **Dailenna**

The first time he laid eyes on her – how was he supposed to know that? One memory melted into the next when you'd been around each other as long as they had been. He remembered encounters that they had had in that first year – or maybe it was the second, he wasn't quite sure – but he couldn't pinpoint that moment when they had first met each other. Why was it so important anyway? It was probably a simple introduction like any other: "Roy, this is Riza. She's Mr. Hawkeye's daughter."

He probably wouldn't have been paying much attention at the time. When you're a teenaged boy, ten-year-old girls aren't all that interesting – they aren't even developed yet – and since he knew her before any development had started, it had taken him quite some time to realise that any was happening. But it's hard to ignore that sort of a change in someone when they're sitting in front of you, half-naked. Her back towards him, of course, but it was all the same to the man who would come to be known as the power-hungry womaniser he is now thought of as.

Yes, now that he reminisced, he had more interesting memories of her than a simple introduction. What was important wasn't the first impression one had of a person, but rather the impressions following that, which became the foundation of the subsequent friendship.

It didn't hurt that she had grown up _very_ nicely, either.

* * *

The first time he laid eyes on her . . . It was a few years ago, but he could remember it when he thought back. If it wasn't for the fact that his other comrades of the time were no longer present, he thought they might still be laughing at him about it today. He had barely managed to live it down long enough to escape those who had been by his side then – his consolation was that while he had made an idiot of himself in front of them, she didn't know about it, and he had been promoted. Every now and then when he walked past some other stations with his two superior officers, he swore that he could hear muffled laughter.

It had been just after Ishbal, and he was just finishing up his training program. Apparently she hadn't done so much as finish hers before she was shipped off to the war, but when the soldiers came back, there was a fuss in the ranks before anyone got sorted out in their new positions. While the higher ups were still deciding where everyone would do best, she had been giving demonstrations to the trainees on how to shoot straight – the number who couldn't was surprising.

Not that he couldn't aim or anything – he was easily one of the best in his class . . . at the physical work anyway – but it was procedure that everyone had their aim checked by a higher officer at least twice before they were allowed through the system. So he had stood there, feeling like an idiot while she checked the knuckleheads on either side of him, who had both somehow managed to shoot his target instead of their own.

The first thing she said to him? That was easy: "Put out your cigarette – I'm not checking you until that smoke's cleared." It was less the sharp tone of voice she had used, and more the way that her eyes had lazily roved over him that convinced him to drop the cigarette quickly. There were women in the military, sure, but not all of them had a face like that, and if she wanted him to put it out . . . well, she'd only had to say the word.

When she had finally come to see him, he made his mark in the target and turned back grinning, to see that instead of watching where he had shot the bullet, she had been watching him. He'd felt flattered at first, until she started to tell him just how wrong his stance was, and how his elbow was too low. He tried again, this time gaining an approving smile before she moved on.

Now that he knows her better, he realises her bumping into him as she left was more a result of little to no sleep due to nightmares of the war than her desire to feel his body against hers. At the time, however, he had grinned off her apology and watched her leave with an appreciative eye.

The two previously mentioned knuckleheads had not failed to notice just how appreciative his gaze was, and had taken the opportunity to remind him of it every time they saw him, finding extreme pleasure in the fact that only a week or two later he was promoted to work beneath the very same officer as she was. Of course, it hadn't been long for him to realise that he wasn't the object of her desires, and to find someone else to moon over.

* * *

The first time he laid eyes on her? Well, his mechanic told him that she had been there after _the incident_, but he didn't remember seeing her there – just the then-Lieutenant-Colonel telling him to join the military. The first time he remembered seeing her must have been when he arrived at Central to take the Alchemical exams. She was standing with the Colonel, as always, but didn't really contribute much to the conversation.

It was easier for him to remember her calming presence around the office every time he ducked in to hand in a report. She wouldn't be very verbal, but it wasn't as though she was mute. He was just pleased with the effect she had on Mustang, because it made the man a whole lot easier for him to cope with when there was someone else telling him to change how he acted. It would have been nice if Mustang listened to him the way he listened to her, though.

Oh, yes, she had her own good and bad points, he supposed, but he mainly saw her as just another office member. Nice, easy to get along with, but to be respected _at all times_. He'd seen what a good shot she was, and although he hadn't ever seen her pull those guns on an ally, they were still within her reach most of the time. There was no use teasing a dog for long enough that it finally bit back, and so he always made an effort to keep on her good side.

Seeing how well she got on with Al was enough of a measure of character for him. Whenever the four of them met – he and Al, she and Mustang – he and Mustang would smirk about their own superiority over the other, and trade banter until they finally got down to business. She would greet Al by his full name and chat with him so that he didn't get bored having to listen to the insults flying in the next room. When he and Al finally left again, Al would be smiling contentedly after having caught up with his friend. Yes, he supposed she was that – a friend.

* * *

The first time she laid eyes on _her_? Well, she would be able to tell you the exact date, and the approximate time – although when it came to minutes and seconds, she had no clue. That didn't mean she remembered any of it, though.

How odd to be able to remember so much about a person – what they look like, when you met them, who they knew, where they worked – and to not remember the meeting itself. It seemed wrong, somehow, that she couldn't so much as put together one conversation from memory. She had constructed many in her time, as it was her way to practice her conversations before having them, but she could never remember the sound of _her_ voice, or even what _she_ had to say.

As for events, there were none. Not one to say that they had ever so much as encountered one another, although everyone knew that the two of them had met, however briefly. There were times that she was sure they held it against her. There were times when she held it against herself. She couldn't remember the meeting, but nonetheless, she had killed _her_.

To have killed someone is truly a hard thing to bear, as _she_ had known. _She_ deserved some break from the horror, but perhaps this was not the break needed.

She was guilty of a crime that no one would dare to arrest her for, and it hurt to see that she had been the death of someone and wasn't being punished. Maybe the attempted camaraderie of the others – seemingly forced at times – was her punishment. If she had any choice in it, she would want it to be harsher, just so that it could be over faster, but she had no choice in the matter.

She was a murderer.

* * *

Riza Mustang

1901-1928

Lover, Officer, Friend, Mother

When Ishbal Couldn't Take Her, Childbirth Did


End file.
